Darklight: Chains
by eboncat
Summary: A Twi'lek boy on a backwater Hutt run planet has no idea that his success as a pick pocket is all thanks to his force sensitivity. Little does he know that one small slip will not only change his life, but will change the fate of everyone around him. Story of my Sith Assassin. Spoilers for the SWTOR universe and adult themes will abound. (Inc's poss triggers and bisexuality)
1. Prologue - Chains - Part 1

Darklight: Chains (Prologue)

Fan Art / Fan Fiction / General Fiction

Title: Darklight  
Chapter: Prologue  
Author: eboncat  
Fandom: SWTOR  
Characters/pairings: Male Twi'lek, miscellaneous Sith,  
Rating: This chapter is T (The story will range from PG to MA depending on the chapter.)  
Disclaimer: SWTOR is Bioware's universe, I'm just playing in it. I make no money from this work of fan fiction, and the only thing I own are the original ideas in my head, and my original characters that I have inserted into Bioware's awesome world. Any resemblance to real people living or dead is pure coincidence.

The young Twi'lek pressed his fist against his stomach, willing it not to growl. If he made any noise that gave him away now, who knew when he would get another chance to make a grab this big. He could feed himself, his family, and half the kids in his building for weeks on a pile of unlocked creds like this skirt had on him. As much as he hated this place and its Hutt overlords, he had to admit that the slug-like rulers of the planet kept the creds rolling in for the more shady inhabitants of the area. There was never a shortage of fools with an addiction and too much money to spare. This fool was special though. And Rich. Unfortunately his target was also a fragging skirt.

Problem was, like everyone dumb enough to trudge around this swamp of a planet wearing a dress, the boy's mark was a Sith. They were dangerous. Most people couldn't see the blue skinned youth in this light if he didn't want to be seen, but these guys... they were always hard marks. They saw shit that no one else could see. It was like they could sense him there in the shadows.

The tall robed man wandered up to a stall, casually checking out the stims that the dodgy lookin' alien was trying to flog for one of the slugs. The boy moved behind the stall. He crept around to a spot within reach but out of sight of the Sith. As the Twi'lek advanced on his target, the mark pulled his pouch from a fold in his robe and withdrew a couple of cred chips. The small bag dangled enticingly on his belt as he attempted to haggle the salesman down in price. The little thief waited patiently, listening to the lilt of the Sith's accent as he became more engrossed in his bargaining. The timing had to be perfect.

As the Sith's bargaining reached a crescendo, the young thief carefully reached forward. In one fluid motion he slit the strap attaching the pouch to the Sith's belt, and tucked it into his pocket. At the same moment his other hand looped a similar sized pouch full of pieces of broken plastic in it's place. A final check of his handy work, and he was back in the shadows and down the street in an instant. The only sign of his passing was a faint momentary distortion in the air behind him, and swirling dust where his feet had been.

The boy had made it no more than a couple of blocks before his mouth started watering and his stomach cramped, his small body demanding that he go buy food now that he had the means to feed himself. He bit the inside of his cheek and reached into a pocket, pulling out a piece of plastic like the ones he had used to stuff the fake purse. He popped it into his mouth, giving himself something to chew on until he felt safe enough to go buy something edible. How long had it been since he had eaten anything other than the foul tasting weeds that grew on the outskirts of town, or an occasional barely edible morsel that someone had dropped on the road? A week? Longer?

He rolled his brilliant green eyes and shook such pointless thoughts from his head. He needed to hunker down and wait. Eating would do him no good at all if he was caught and thrown to the slugs or their pets for entertainment. Still hugging the darker side of the street, he edged his way out of the market and jogged down a dirt path leading away from the town. About a half a kilometer down the road he stopped and crouched in some thick bushes. He looked around to make sure no one was watching.

When he was satisfied that he was definitely alone, he bolted for a large sprawling tree across the clearing. In well practiced movements he climbed the tree almost to the very top. Once he was settled in the cradle shaped by the intersecting branches of the tree, he pulled out a piece of bark from the trunk and placed all of the cred chips inside the makeshift hiding hole. He then pulled out two that he had placed in there months before on a previous venture and put those in his pocket. Trying not to feel too paranoid he checked one last time to make sure no one saw him climb the tree. Feeling as secure as he could, the young Twi'lek finally curled up to try and sleep until sunrise.

The young thief was woken a few hours later by the sound of hover vehicles bringing in the merchants who worked the morning shift. Traders who's items were better suited to daytime clientele.

Shimmying down the trunk of the tree, he dropped the last few feet onto the top of one of the vehicles that was heading into the town. A couple of blocks from the market area, he leaped from the roof of the vehicle and swung onto a street sign, then slid down to the ground.

Looking over his shoulder, he darted down an alley and pulled a small piece of plating off the side of the building. Wriggling inside, he replaced the makeshift hatch and quickly scrubbed himself down with an old rag and some water that he had left in a bottle. Once clean he wriggled into some new pants and a synthleather vest that he kept hidden for emergencies.

He allowed himself a few moments just to breathe, to feel clean and decent instead of feeling like a gutter rat who stole to survive. Chuckling to himself, he practiced speaking in the accent that the skirts used. It always sounded so smooth, not like the rough accent that the slaves and workers used where he lived. It was as if the Sith had more time and energy to say their words properly. Like they knew that what they were saying actually mattered. Picking the dirt and bark from under his nails, he wondered what it felt like to know that whatever you said, people would actually be hearing you.

"Enough sulking boy!" he muttered in a perfect Imperial accent. Wondering if his mother would even be home or conscious when he finally got their room, he slid back into his own common accent. "It is your mother's name day... an' she's prolly too fracked up on stims to 'member but that don't mean ya shouldn't bring 'er somethin'."

He pulled his lekku over his shoulders to check that all the dirt was cleaned off . All his work would be pointless if he didn't look the part. Mentally snapping his Imperial accent back into place, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat, then he gathered up the cred chips and headed back out to the street. This time when he entered the market he was a young wealthy customer, not a thief.

That night, the boy had the best night he would have for many, many years to come. His mother was sober, his baby brother was well fed and he was content for the first time he could remember. Soon he would look back on it and feel something close to hatred.

That night, a Sith Lord was called urgently away from the planet, leaving his favorite apprentice behind. That apprentice was under strict instruction to call his Master the moment he discovered the identity of the untrained Force user living on the planet.

That night a string of events were set in motion. Those events would result in consequences that no one involved could ever have predicted.


	2. Prologue - Chains - Part 2

Darklight: Prologue part 2

Author: Asheraa

Rating: T (this chapter only) Full fic ranges T to M+

Fandom: SWTOR

Characters: Force sensitive Twi'lek boy, others.

Words: 1261

Warnings: Mentions of possible mild trigger situations in this chapter. And of course the pseudo-swearing of the Star Wars universe.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my unique characters, all else is owned by Bioware and whoever owns Star Wars now. I make no money from this labour of love.

The boy froze. He pulled the shadows tighter around himself and tried to ignore the sinking sensation in his gut. He had made a terrible mistake. He should not have come. This was a stupid idea. It wasn't worth it.

But he had no choice. Where else was he going to get the creds to buy medicine his brother so desperately needed? His mother certainly couldn't get the money. She was no longer perpetually in a stim induced haze, but that was small comfort. The money she made on her back was all spent to keep her latest boyfriend happy these days. At least before all they had to worry about was his mother beating on them. Her latest boyfriend had a frightening fondness for choking the boys into unconsciousness if they did anything to piss him off. The young thief wondered what he and his brother could possibly have done in their former lives that was so shitfully terrible. What could a kid have done to deserve having to care for his brother and his mother, and her expansive string of 'squeezes' by breaking into the homes of skirts and slugs and what passed for nobility on this shit-hole of a planet.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. He needed a clear head. He didn't even know where he was supposed to fence this crap any more. No one was rich enough to afford the stuff he lifted unless they were someone he had already stolen from. Every time he did this it got harder to break in, harder to get out unseen, harder to move the stuff once he got clear. How in the stars could a fourteen year old feel this burned out?

Grinding his teeth, the boy pulled his mind back to the present, listening for movement in the smothering near total darkness of the mansion. He was sure he wasn't alone, but still he heard nothing. Keeping his head and body rigid he let his eyes move around, taking in the way the flames leaped around in the overly ostentatious brazier in the middle of the room, the curtains at the open window, the shadows along the walls. His eyes and ears told him there was nothing there, but he was sure his senses lied. He had learned long ago to trust his instincts, especially where skirts were involved.

He stayed like that, crouched in the shadows of a large room in a Sith estate for what seemed like an eternity. Long enough that his arms stopped burning and started to go numb, and his legs had long ago lost their pins and needles from being in one position so long.

He needed to move. The threat he felt at that moment may be intangible, but the Sith was due home from his engagement at any moment. If he was caught here when the Lord and his entourage got home the fear would most definitely _not _be intangible. He had seen what the skirts and their friends liked to do to for kicks, and just thinking about it started a bead of sweat rolling down the young Twi'lek's back.

Gathering his courage, he took a couple of tentative steps towards the open window. He was so close now that a good solid leap would carry him through to the outside world. It was a bit of a drop into a particularly filthy part of the river, but it would be freedom from this fragged up place.

He had just lifted his foot off the ground to take another step towards the window when a shot of pure unadulterated dread washed over him. He knew that if he was any other race his hair would be standing on end. Goosebumps rose abruptly all over his body despite the warmth of the room and his proximity to the fire. Another bead of sweat slithered down his spine and he tried to suppress the shiver it caused.

Somewhere in the rational part of his mind he wondered what was causing this reaction. He had rolled Sith houses before, and while he did it as little as possible, it was certainly nothing new to him.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep, silently groaning in frustration. He was being such a pussy. He was standing less than a meter from freedom but he was frozen in fear. He felt like one of those poor bastards that were dragged before the Hutts, then given a pardon for their non existent 'crimes'. The ones that were inevitably dropped into the pit after falling all over themselves in thanks for the slug's 'mercy'. He felt like the universe was silently pissing itself laughing at his expense.

Another shot of terror lurched though him and he bit his lip, barely managing to maintain control of his bladder.

"You're being a druk head" he murmured to himself, "The window is right there... now... move!" Squeezing his eyes closed again he willed his bare feet to move across the last few polished tiles to the open window.

He lifted his foot again preparing to bolt, and just as he shifted his weight he felt it. Actually felt it, like a living oily thing crawling across his skin. The wave of raw power that rolled across the room. He bit down on his knuckle to stifle a scream. The sound was so close to the tip of his tongue that he wasn't sure how he contained it.

Reaching deep inside he pulled the shadows even tighter around himself. If he could just... stay... quiet... as long as the light didn't touch him he would be alright. No one could see him in the shadows. No one ever saw him in the shadows.

A bubble of hysterical laughter almost forced it's way out of his throat as a sliver of electricity arched from one blue knuckle to the next then dissipated. His breathing was so shallow and fast that he started to feel dizzy. He swallowed, and the sound of the saliva going down his dry throat was like a missile exploding.

It's not real, he chanted to himself, it's not real it's not real it's not real...

Trembling, he took a baby step towards the window, and another and another. Just a few centimetres to go and he would be able to get out the window. He wished his legs were still working well enough to jump. He would be lucky if he could make himself move enough to climb over the low window ledge he was shaking so badly.

He looked at the minute space between him and freedom. A sliver of light ran in through the window and across the floor just in front of his toes. He was so close, but the moment the light touched him he would be visible to whatever horror was toying with him. It was waiting and it would get him if he moved into the light, because that split second of exposure was an eternity when you were running from a Sith.

Another wave of electricity crawled up his legs, and over his body. He bit down harder on his knuckle. It felt like thousands of tiny fingers were running all over him, feeling him, sinking into him. His jaw clenched compulsively on the knuckle that was still between his teeth, breaking the skin.

ZAP!

The electricity that was crawling over him arched to the blood in his mouth, and he let out a silent sobbing scream. In that minute sliver of time, he forgot to be still. His hand shot from his mouth and crossed into the light.

Inhale...

Exhale...

A drop of blood splashing on tile...

A blinding flash and his world was swept away in a vortex of agony and purple lightning.


End file.
